


At The Hands Of The Devil

by imoldgreg



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Southern Gothic, BDSM elements, But Then They Realise They Love Each Other, But This Won’t Be Elaborated On Any Further Than The First Chapter, Credence And Graves’ Relationship Is A Little Sketchy At First, Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, Extremely Horny Teenage Credence, Feminization, Hung Credence, Implied/Referenced Incest, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mary Lou Barebone is Her Own Warning, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Power Play, Sibling Incest, Sub Credence, Vampire Graves, dom graves, inappropriate use of wandless magic, kind of, shoe licking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-02-24 05:42:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13207194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imoldgreg/pseuds/imoldgreg
Summary: The mysterious Mr Graves is a devilishly handsome vampire, and Credence is going through a very messy puberty. What could go wrong when the two end up together?[this fic is on hiatus]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This took way too long to write omg  
> Been working on this for ages tbf so I hope y’all enjoy :))
> 
> Kind of underage bc Credence is 16, and the only non consensual sex is the Chastity/Credence part, which won’t be continued further than the first chapter. But anything between Graves n Cre is consensual

Credence could not remember the day the plantation house had been taken over. It came with acres of land and a large, derelict mansion, with a price so high it kept many buyers away. The location was no godsend either. The haunting Barebone church stood within its territory, the ground was sunbaked and arid, and they were at least five miles out from any civilization. Overall it was a smart business man's worst nightmare.

The church was Credence’s home, and it had been since he was a little boy. It was wooden and small, its once bright white and blue paint now dull and peeling, revealing the dark wood underneath, black with rot. The windows were either boarded up or smeared with so much desert grime no light could seep through. Instead the sun had to stream its way in through the many holes in the roof and walls.

A flock of pigeons nested in the rafters, and large black spiders made their silken beds all over. Credence was glad that this forlorn chapel could at least be a good home to someone.

Faded shadowy outlines of ancient pews that had once lined the floor were long gone, and instead a chipped, splintering table and rickety chair set replaced them. Everything creaked under the slightest strain.

The graveyard stood out back. It held thick slabs of cracked stone, and large grey crosses. One tall stone angel stood above the headstones, her arms crossed over her chest in a mimic of those underground, her mouth open as if she was frozen in a scream. Her wings had crumbled and cracked off long ago, leaving jagged stumps protruding uncomfortably from her shoulders.

Credence didn’t know who was buried there, their carved names and dates worn smooth by time, but now thistles and dry shrubbery thrived among the graves, along with the huge crows and magpies. 

When it was rainy season it was always coated in a thick layer of mist, and Credence could’ve sworn seeing shadows of the dead reflecting through the cloud. 

Inside the church, Ma had her own room, and his sisters shared a bedroom next to hers. Credence had a small room of his own down a long narrow corridor, though 'small' might’ve been an understatement. 

In recent years he had been inflicted with a growth spurt that so far hadn’t come to an end, making his arms and legs grow sinewy and too long for his body, his hands and feet out of proportion. He no longer fitted in the bed comfortably, but he never let himself think that.

Such thoughts were selfish and ungrateful.

But he was so very, very grateful for the privacy his room offered. With this dreadful tallness that had been sprung upon him came other, much more embarrassing ailments. Hair grew thick and coarse where there had previously been none, his back took upon more blemishes than just the welts and scars left by his wrongdoings, and his voice, once soft and easily ignored, now had the horrible tendency to crack and break into something Credence hardly recognised.

He had always been small, able to hide and curl up. It seemed he wasn’t allowed to do that anymore.

Credence’s smell changed, his stomach was constantly empty and aching, suddenly unhappy with the rationed portions of gruel and bread they ate twice a day. He was beaten more than ever for his gluttony, for his inability to hold back tears anymore, and for the dreadful unnatural thoughts that had taken over his mind.

“Lust,” Ma had spat, pausing between hits upon the back of his thighs, “is the wickedest kind of sin. But lust for those of your own sex is unforgivable, blasphemous. You may as well let the Devil tear apart your soul which each vile thought that passes through your cursed mind, my boy.”

Credence hadn’t been able to sit down for weeks after Ma had finished her punishment. He still didn’t know how she found out about his perverted nature. It might’ve been the way he looked at the men in town or out in the fields, but Credence always thought himself as very subtle, especially when with his mother or sisters.

Maybe she could read his mind.

It scared him. Credence had never even considered being tempted by the desires of the flesh, especially that of the male sex, but suddenly he was waking up to sticky sheets every morning, hot flashes of thick arms and sweat slicked torsos racing through his mind as his ears grew as red as the sinful aching thing between his legs. That had grown as well, and dragged his lust with it.

He must call out in his sleep, because Ma always caught him.

However it wasn’t just at night in which sin plagued his thoughts and twisted his body. The need was always there, thrumming in the back of his mind, suddenly diving down between his legs at any given moment. Credence fought desperately against the urge to touch himself, but every time it felt like a losing battle.

Sometimes it would be the men working out on the fields closer to town, their sleeves rolled up and their shirts unbuttoned, sweat covering their brown skin in a fine sheen, muscles clear and rippling as they pushed the heavy plough along. The great beast of a horse that tugged the metal contraption forward could easily kill a man with those mighty hooves, but the farm workers always kept it easily under control with a click of the tongue or a pull of the reign.

It both frightened Credence and gave him an odd sense of electrifying thrill to think of a man having so much control over another living creature. In another, deeper, more sinful part of his mind, the sight stirred up his insides and sent him to hide behind a tree or a fence, achingly hard and incredibly ashamed.

Other times it would be the much older, wealthier men who ignored him or pushed by him when he was sent to town to distribute leaflets. Even the harshest of contact had him straining in his worn trousers, the cuffs barely grazing his ankles.

The hardness hurt, and it grew slick and made terrible stains in Credence’s underwear. When Ma found them stuffed under his bed she had scrubbed his skin so hard in the bath he thought it might peel off. No matter how many punishments he was given, his body refused to obey.

Credence felt a stranger in his own skin, trapped by this desperate lustful monster. It made him roll his hips against his bed, even as he cried and tried to smother himself with his own pillow. It made him think of awful, perverse things about other men, what they’d be able to do to him.

He tried to drill it into his head that he hated it, this constant urge for men. He prayed and prayed, every morning and night, every time he felt the heat build up again, however he soon had to start praying silently inside his head while he stood, because kneeling often made the problem worse. Credence had once accidentally witnessed a woman kneeling before a man once down the side of a tavern, when it had been very late at night and he had failed to successfully find his way home in time. At the time he had been repulsed. Now every time he knelt that was all he could imagine.

Most of the time the unexpected intrusive hardness would go away after what felt like eternity, and Credence would thank the Lord over and over for allowing him such restraint, even as Lucifer himself whispered in his ear, practically begging him to touch himself. There was no joy in this godly restraint however, and if anything it always made him feel worse, though Credence did try very hard to feel grateful.

He didn’t know what was happening to his body, but it was dark and it was sinful and it had been spawned in the depths of hell itself. Ma was right for beating him so much, for starving him and for scrubbing him. Credence was so desperate for her to see he was still the obedient, disciplined little boy she had taken in all those years ago. Back when she had almost loved him.

But now there was a secret. Something Ma didn’t know. Something only him and his older sister Chastity knew about, like back when they were very little. But this time Credence wasn’t filled with the raw, giddy excitement that came with shared secrets between siblings. Nor did the bond between them thicken as their joint silence against a mutual enemy brought them closer together as it did when they were young. Now it made him feel sick, and unclean, and Credence found the bitter feeling of resentment starting to build against his older sister.

Chastity knew about Credence’s lust, and Chastity had heard him crying at night, when he would lay awake in hours of pure hot wet need, desperately and tearfully willing his problem to go away. Chastity started to come in when she heard him crying.

She was about a year older than Credence, and she had hated him ever since Ma started to. Credence was stupid for thinking she was coming to his room to comfort him, to tell him he was alright. She hadn’t done it for years. 

Instead she had said that she knew how to solve his problem, how to stop the ache between his legs.

Credence had looked up at her from his curled fetal position under his rough sheets, his eyes wide and rabbit-like in the dim flickering candlelight. He remembered feeling his heart trying to break through his ribs.

She had told him to sit up against the head board of his bed, and he’d done so without question, if a little slowly. His face burned and silent tears slid down his face in a consistent stream.

Chastity had touched him, through the fabric of his sleepwear, and Credence's hips had bucked involuntarily as he let out a pitiful whine.

“Shh Credence,” she had whispered, almost motherly, as she brought the throbbing length out from his trousers.

And Credence had felt everything. He had cried as he felt her hand slide up and down over his length, hot and red and wet. Then she had put her head down, and did something that made his stomach twist. Her mouth was on him, and he’d cried harder.

She’d told him to shut up, and he had. 

Instead he cried in spluttering, choked sobs that made him gag, unable to control the shaking in his hands and thighs. He tried to keep himself quiet, but then she’d slapped him, and Credence knew he deserved it. If Ma came in she’d kill them both.

Chastity, his own sister, had continued to suck and swallow at his cock in the most sinful of ways, until Credence had released. For a moment, he thought he’d died. Perhaps it would have been better if he had.

It had felt like the hardest, most intense form of white hot pleasure there was, and it ricocheted through his whole body. His hands were gripping his sheets so tight they almost ripped. He could hardly see, and his breathing was laboured. He knew he was drooling. He always did when he wasn’t breathing properly.

Despite the release, Credence had been sick. Chastity had slapped him again, harder than before, hard enough to leave a bright red hand mark on his cheek. A string of drool connected his lower lip to her hand.

He thought the deafening slam of his heart against his ribs might’ve woken Ma up, but he wouldn’t have heard even if it had, the roar of blood pulsing in his ears was so loud.

Since then it had only gotten worse. 

Every few nights Chastity would come in. She didn’t touch Credence anymore, but she’d managed to get him used to commands and actions like a well trained dog. It was all he was really good for.

Usually she would want his face between her legs, and if he licked and suckled in the right way, she’d praise him. 

Sometimes she’d squirt on him, and pull his hair painfully tight. Then she’d sit down on his cock, and force him down on the bed, straddling his hips, so he couldn’t get away.

Credence never managed to stop himself crying through the whole thing, but he managed to keep fairly quiet. The occasional sob or whine would sometimes escape. 

Sometimes Chastity let him get away with it. Sometimes she didn’t.

The pleasure no longer ebbed through the sickening feeling. It felt like Ma was touching him. Sometimes she’d make him call her that.

Credence didn’t like Chastity anymore. Before there had been an underlying hope that one day she would realise that she still loved him, and they would be friends again. But now that was gone. Credence was scared of her. Scared of her lingering touches, the rewards she gave him the morning after of her own gruel that she claimed she could not eat, her harsh words and her slaps.

Credence started to smother himself with his pillow whenever he cried. Sometimes he could make himself pass out into a fitful sleep from lack of clear air, though whenever he did so the heat seemed to flare up worse than other nights, and Credence would wake up in a mess, drooling from both his mouth and his cock.

His length seemed to have decided to grow unnaturally large. Credence had never properly seen another man’s cock, so he had no idea how to compare his to what was normal, but he was sure his wasn’t the correct size. Halfway down his thigh and almost the girth of his wrist couldn’t be the appropriate size, could it?

This opinion, however, became greatly challenged the day Credence turned sixteen.

Rainy season seemed to have begun early, and it was unnaturally clouded over considering it was only September. A strong wind had started up, and rain hammered down on the church. Water poured in through every nook and cranny, and Chastity and Modesty hurried carrying tin buckets and cast iron pans to catch the leaks.

It was such a stark contrast from the previous days' weather, which had held the driest, harshest heatwave in years. Suddenly they had been flung into the middle of winter.

Ma had been furious her meeting had been moved due to the building storm, and as a result she’d sent Credence to give flyers out door to door to the houses out of town, while Modesty and Chastity remained at home, cleaning and attempting to fix the leaks.

He didn’t bother protesting, though he knew his threadbare jacket would provide no protection against the vicious onslaught. Barely a minute after he stepped outside he was soaked to the bone, his teeth chattering in his skull as his hands turned a painfully cold pink colour.

It was too early in the morning, barely any light shining through the cloud. There wasn’t a single person on Credence’s slow soggy trek down the lane besides himself, heading the opposite way from town, towards the hermits and social outcasts who lived so far out from civilization. 

He deliberately avoided visiting the plantation house towering over the church, deciding to go to it last.

The first house Credence found was abandoned, clearly so, but he attempted knocking anyway, grateful for the shelter of the porch. He knocked and his hand burned with pain, and just as expected there was no answer.

It seemed due to the abundance of spiders and dormant flies nestled under the porch with him that they were keeping shelter too.

He stuffed four soaking pamphlets into the long rusted letterbox, the sodden paper easily tearing under the pressure. A stack of fifty papers had been thrusted upon him by his Ma, but he knew for a fact the next two houses were the only ones within ten miles. There would be no way he could find fifty individual homes to hand leaflets out to.

Credence considered dumping all the papers here in a soaking lump and just going home, but Chastity wouldn’t hesitate to punish him for returning so soon.

With his hair sticking to his face and what felt like his very skeleton shaking with cold, he left the porch of the empty house. His old shoes felt like they were deliberately funneling the water to surround his feet, and they gave an unpleasant squelching sound with each step he took.

Looking up ahead at the now mud churned lane, Credence had to stop suddenly. A large black dog with sharp pointed ears stood just where the path turned round a corner, seemingly untouched by the rain. It met his eyes with its own soulless black orbs, its long pointed snout lifted up as if taking his scent.

Credence froze, his breathing slightly laboured. If it wasn’t some hellish version of a coyote, was it some form of wolf? The ribs showing through its shiny coat indicated it was clearly hungry enough to eat him if it so desired. Maybe there was a whole pack of them, ready to tear him limb from limb, where no one would ever find him?

The sense of pure dread that sank in at the sight of the beast, its tight muscles bulging beneath the thin layer of skin and sharp ears perked forwards towards him, told him that this was no normal creature.

Credence looked around wildly for somewhere to hide, for anything to defend himself with, suddenly feeling so much colder with pure fear, but when his eyes returned to the dog it had vanished. There wasn’t even a print in the mud where it had stood.

He tried to gather himself back together, but he still clutched the stack of leaflets to his chest as some form of shield as he peered round the corner where the creature had been, hunched over and cautious. Not a trace of it remained, though he looked as far as he could. All he could hear was the heavy pounding of the rain. His feet sank into the water logged mud.

Credence clenched his jaw so tight his teeth creaked. 'Come on' he told himself internally, 'Stop imagining things like a child.’

It still took him a good ten minutes to unlock his limbs and gingerly start his way down the road again. He felt his legs trembling uncontrollably.

The second house hardly gave him chance to drone his unbearable litany before the door was heavily shut in his face. If Credence was prone to ill thoughts of others he would’ve said they’d slammed it, and been very rude in their creative way of saying “go away”. 

He left about ten leaflets in one wet barely distinguishable lump on their door mat anyway, and went to walk back down the stairs. Due to the slick sheen of rain water on the polished wood and the coating of mud on his shoes his foot slipped out from under him, and Credence violently fell back, falling down the last two steps. It stole the breath from his lungs in shock.

He landed in a very painful heap at the bottom of the stairs, and he yelped out pathetically in pain. The sound was swallowed up in the heavy rush of the rain. The welts on his hands which had scabbed over from last night split open excruciatingly.

Credence wasn’t sure if there were tears on his face or just rain, but he was aware of the loud sobs ripping from his throat that refused to quieten down. He must’ve looked like an insolent child, sat crumpled in the mud, soaking wet from the rain and sobbing openly. Credence heard his voice break again as he cried.

As he tried to haul himself back up using the wooden banister leading up the stairs, his hands stung awfully, and he looked up to see at the bottom of the neat garden path where the jet black beast of a dog had reappeared.

His foot slipped in the mud at the unexpected apparition and Credence ended up back on the ground, face first this time. It left him winded, blood roaring in his ears as his face heated furiously. He knew he was drooling as he shakily returned to his feet, looking like a spangly-legged deer fawn.

This time the hell hound hadn’t vanished. Credence stared, frozen to the spot, completely captivated by the creature’s fathomless empty gaze. He felt like a rabbit facing the jaws of the hunt. The leaflets in his grasp were scrunched and sodden, the ink almost all but melted off due to the rain and mud. The newly opened cuts on his hands bled into the ruined papers.

“What.. what are you?” Credence stuttered, his throat feeling clogged and thick, the words tumbling from his lips before he realised what he was saying.

Not surprisingly the dog didn’t answer, but Credence knew it wasn’t just some lost mutt left out in the rain. It seemed to almost radiate darkness, the water droplets running off its sleek fur like wax.

“Please?” he whispered softly, his voice cracking with the thickness of his forgotten tears. His lips were red and swollen, almost bruised, and his eyes were red, wide like a hare’s.

All he could hear was the increasingly deafening pounding of the heavy rain.

The beast’s eyes bore into his own, and it huffed a small breathy bark from between its jowls, before turning round smoothly and padding silently down the road a few feet. Then it stopped, turning its head back to watch Credence carefully. It wanted him to follow. The gesture was as clear as if the dog had stood up and shouted it in his face.

So, as if he was under some kind of spell, Credence, possibly rather stupidly, followed.

It took an unnervingly long time, and Credence became colder and colder as the freezing rain hammered down on him. He felt as if he’d never be dry again, and the prospect of warmth back in the church was painfully unrealistic. It left his mood as low and as miserable as the weather. Following this unnatural beast might not have been the worst thing he could’ve done, considering his options.

Eventually Credence realised he’d been lead back home, but instead of to the church he found himself just outside the porch of the plantation house. The dog had once again dissolved into absence.

The manor house was immense, more-so up close. It towered over his small run down church, its gapingly jagged porch and huge old fashioned windows leering over like a face contorted with fury. 

The splintered white washed wooden boards that made up the walls were bright as if freshly painted, though the general sense of 'long derelict abandonment' hung over it like a heavy cloud. The rain water that ran down into the grass and pooled in the mud was a milky white. 

The windows were all boarded up, worse than Credence’s home, and the barren land had become increasingly over grown with dry shrubbery.

The whole thing looked as though it had been seriously scorched by some dreadful fire that the thin white paint was trying to cover up, though Credence had no recollection of this event ever taking place.

Suddenly the door was pulled open, and Credence cowered where he stood at the bottom of the steps out of pure habit. He expected squatters or some crazy homeless person to chase him away, but he was faced with a beautifully dressed gentleman, his stature strong and thick as the mighty cart horses in the fields.

“Are you lost boy?” came a terribly alpha tone, slick with pure masculinity and devilish charm, and Credence feared his body would betray him at something as simple as a damn voice.

The gentleman looked so out of place compared to the ruin of the plantation house, with his rich elegant clothes, dangerously handsome features and sharply cut hair, neat down to the very last detail. Even his shoes shined so clear Credence was sure he could see his face in them if he tried. Credence tried very hard not to imagine himself kneeling before the man.

Dumbly, like a naughty child been caught, Credence shook his head, his fat lower lip caught by his teeth. He must’ve looked like a beggar; soaking wet, threadbare clothes clinging to his malnourished form. He shook so bad it almost looked comical. 

His face felt boiling despite the numbing cold, and he knew he was flushed terribly.

“What’s that in your hand?” the man raised a thick eyebrow, and nodded at the sodden clump of ruined leaflets clutched in Credence’s boney hands, now almost blue.

Credence didn’t even consider droning out the Second Salem speech regarding their cause and 'fight for humanity's moral survival' , but automatically his arm awkwardly thrust itself out, gripping the majority of two soggy papers. They were stained a faint inky grey and a dirty looking red. Credence’s hands still hurt dreadfully from the fall.

The fine gentleman glanced over the papers carelessly, frowning with deep golden eyes as he looked over Credence with a mix of vague interest and almost-concern. Credence’s hand remained locked outstretched, and he bit his lip so hard it bruised.

The rain hit down painfully hard, now combined with sharp hailstones which created a deafening thudding sound upon every hard surface, and Credence was sure his shoulders were bleeding.

“I supposed I should let you in. Come, boy, out the storm.”

The man ushered him inside, which was surprisingly lavish and beautifully furnished compared to the outside. For once in his life Credence felt a rush of pure cosy warmth as he stepped inside, the door closing heavily behind him. 

He peered round the decadent mansion as well as he could with his feet planted firmly upon on the entrance mat, determined not to move in case he ruined anything. He wasn’t exactly clean, and this building, despite the outward façade it gave, was by far the fanciest, most opulent place he’d ever been allowed inside. And this kind, handsome stranger had taken… pity on him? Allowed him to enter his luxurious home without question? Surely Credence had died out in the storm and this was heaven.

“Well don’t just stand there boy, you’re soaked, and dripping all over. Get undressed, leave your clothes in a pile by the door. You need a bath you wretched thing,” the gentleman frowned at him in such a way that Credence felt he was being searched from the inside out. Analysed as if he were a sheet of numbers.

Obediently, clumsy due to his stiff frozen limbs, he undressed. He peeled away the ruined clothes, inwardly fretting of the punishment he would most certainly receive from Ma. He didn’t have any other garments besides an extra shirt.

As he continued to shakily strip himself of cloth, he noticed how rubbery his skin felt, with it being ice cold and wet. 

Credence wondered if he really was dead, and the skin he was feeling was that of a corpse.

Once he was naked, he saw just how pink and raw his skin actually looked. The welts covering his body, even the long healed scars, were now an angry red, and he kept sniffling. The dark curly hair around his cock and trailing up his stomach to a small patch on his chest was a brilliant contrast to his white flesh, and Credence noticed for the first time he also had hair growing upon his legs and arms.

Under the man’s intense and scrutinizing gaze Credence felt his face and neck burn a dark red. His hands moved jerkily to cover his crotch by default, and he became highly aware of how unattractive his spindly, underdeveloped frame actually was, especially in front of the well-built Adonis of a man.

Credence found himself unable to meet his eye, but his naked cock jumped when thick rough fingers firmly took hold of his chin, lifting his head up to meet his gaze.

“Good boy, I don’t like those prone to argue,” he began, and Credence’s chest swelled with pride at the offhand praise, his length starting to harden and thicken at such approval. A shy smile twisted the corners of his mouth. “Go upstairs, second door on your right, there should be a hot bath ready for you. Come down when you’re finished, I’ll be in the drawing room.”

The man held an almost arrogant smirk on his sculpted face as he forced Credence to return eye contact, and without intending to a soft needy whimper escaped from his own throat, barely audible, though he was sure the gentleman had caught it. His flush grew impossibly redder, spreading itself down to his chest. Credence grasped at his cock desperately, a soft throb starting to pulse through it. 

He’d never felt so humiliated by his own actions before. He prayed the man wouldn’t notice.

“Y-Yes sir,” he whispered, his eyes growing watery and red as he began to hunch back in on himself. The idea of the floor opening up and swallowing him whole seemed like a perfect escape right about now.

“Please, it's Mr Graves, boy, I insist,” the man, Mr Graves, grinned handsomely before letting go of Credence’s chin, and letting him scurry upstairs.

He’d barely made it to the top of the steps before he was called again back into the easy clutch of the man's fluidly accented voice.

“Oh and Credence?” Mr Graves stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching his naked form with the same expression of lazily playful interest a lion may have to a mouse.

There was something dark in his eyes, something base and animalistic, though Credence couldn’t identify it.

“Um..Yes Mr Graves?” he squeaked, impossibly timid.

“Do enjoy your bath,” Mr Graves' smirk was anything but innocent as he remained at the bottom of the stairs, gaze too intense to be considered friendly.

Credence nodded hastily and hurried to the directed room, the unwillingness to be cold any longer finally taking charge of his engrained politeness, finding indeed a hot steaming claw footed bath, with a thick haze of steam, smelling of exotic herbs and rich flowers . All this for him? A stranger in a rich man's house?

Credence should’ve been scared, terrified even, by Mr Graves’ dark gaze, his dangerously charming smile. But everything here felt so good, so warm and safe. He’d never felt safe before. And Mr Graves was so very handsome. And he’d willingly let Credence into his home, without question, offered him somewhere warm and allowed him to clean himself. 

Surely those were the actions of a saint? 

If indeed the childhood tales of the devil guising himself as a beautiful stranger and luring wicked souls away with gifts and kindness were actually true, and Mr Graves was Lucifer himself, this seemed a lot nicer than the life of Puritan ‘goodness’ Credence had been living so far.

As he sank into the perfectly heated water, scented so beautifully, he felt every muscle uncoil for the first time in sixteen years. It came up to his neck, and his scars and welts eased painlessly in the warm water. 

Credence squirted different coloured soaps into his hands from the many bottles lined up over the side of the bathtub, each beautifully scented. He rubbed different smelling bars, each more fragrant than the last, into his palms as they became a soft foamy lather. Rose petals and tiny purple and blue flowers floated in the water around him, something Credence hadn’t even taken note of before he stepped in. A real smile of pure, childlike curiosity and delight spread over his face. The water seemed to glitter and sparkle, swirling under his touch. If it wasn’t such a sinful thing to say, Credence would’ve described it as magical.

He became so relaxed, a feeling that was so foreign to him along with being able to wash himself completely without Ma's harsh scrubbing brush and ice cold water, that he didn’t even realise something that should’ve made his gut churn.

He had never told Mr Graves his name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence finds himself in an oddly arousing situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally managed to finish this chapter omg  
> Hope you enjoy:))

“So Credence,” the intimidating gentleman lazing back in his chair idly addressed the quaking figure at the other end of the table. “How did you find the bath?”

Credence swallowed, his throat clicking audibly. “P-perfect sir,” he stuttered his reply, sounding small and terribly quiet.

He hadn’t been lying. The bath had been truly amazing. Credence had stayed in there for over an hour, and the water remained at a constant perfect temperature. He had never felt so clean as when he emerged from the tub, his skin heated and shining wet, smelling of the intoxicating essences that had been swirling over the bath's surface.

He’d then wrapped a fluffy white towel around himself like a cape, and his eyes had fallen closed as he unthinkingly nuzzled into the fabric’s softness. It smelt something akin to childhood, that gentle, homely smell that should’ve been nostalgic.

It had been impossible to produce coherent thought whilst enrapt within the bath’s fragrant steam that seemed to cling to him, and once he’d left the bathroom clothed only in a robe that seemed to have appeared from nowhere, the same fog refused to leave his mind.

Credence didn’t even remember descending the stairs, or when Mr Graves had sat himself and Credence down at either ends of a large ornate dinner table. He felt like a deer caught looking down the barrel of a gun, but the worst part was he wasn’t sure if he minded.

“Perfect,” Mr Graves curled his tongue around the word, his golden eyes burning into Credence’s own dull ones, an unnerving smirk handsomely twisting his mouth.

Credence shuddered under the piercing weight of the gaze, the small action enough to allow the robe to slip off his shoulder. He barely felt it, the fabric was so light and the house was so warm.

“Are you hungry Credence?” the older man cocked a brow at his bare shoulder, his stare searing Credence’s skin until he self consciously dragged a hand over it, realised it was bare, and quickly pulled the robe back up. He fastened it tighter around himself and ducked his head. He was sweating.

Mr Graves grinned as though he’d just won the county fair. Credence nodded minutely.

The man crossed his legs and rested his chin regally upon his fingers and his elbow upon the chair arm. It may as well have been a throne. He lazily made some vague gesture with his hand, and Credence heard the clattering of pots and cooking utensils from somewhere nearby, though he had yet to see a single member of staff that served the man.

Credence wasn’t sure what he supposed to be feeling, but he’d never felt so small, almost humiliated. There he was, clothed only in a silk robe that wasn’t even his own, sat in the richest house he’d ever set foot in, being provided luxury after luxury by a dangerously handsome man, and yet he couldn’t help but feel stupid, and ugly. Not only did he fail to comprehend why the man was doing this for him, due to his still numb brain, but he had nothing to offer in return. Money clearly wasn’t an option. But what else was there to show his gratification? 

He was a gangly, uncomfortably tall boy with big hands and big feet and legs like a new born foal. His lips were chapped due to the cold weather and his skin was white and pasty, not to mention his back was a complete mess. His nails were too long, he hated his face and the worried, dumb struck expression it seemed stuck with, and his hair was dark and curled all the wrong ways in its hideous bowl cut. He hunched so far he might have been an old man, and he never met eye contact, no matter how brief. Credence could hardly talk without his throat clenching and his heart trying to break through his ribs.

And then there was Mr Graves.

The man oozed confidence, ease dripping off his every precise, calculated action. His eyes were big and watery, shining a deep golden brown. More than one heart had been broken by them, Credence was sure. His jaw was sharp and clean cut, his brows intense but fitting his face perfectly, and his whole frame seemed perfectly in proportion. His hands were big, with thick fingers, but they were not awkward or unnatural looking. Everything fitted perfectly like he was pieced together by the very angels.

Not to mention his house was just as regal, even if it did look a state from the outside.

The man must’ve confused Credence with some deathly ill traveler, willing to give him his last meal before he dropped face down into his plate. If that was the case, Mr Graves must’ve been a very godly man, risking his own health for that of a sad, unfortunate boy to enjoy his final hours on earth. Credence would say it was saintly.

He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to like feeling this confusing, degrading way. At that moment, he couldn’t really decide on anything, even his basic emotions.

Credence was broken out of his thoughts when silver platters of gorgeous steaming food that Credence could never have even begun to imagine in his wildest dreams actually floated over and placed themselves neatly on the table in front of him. It was a veritable banquet fit for royalty, but Credence couldn’t stop his mouth dropping open and his whole body seize into fits of engrained tremors.

After years of harsh teachings and pushed upon obsession, his body reacted before his mind caught up. It was an automatic response he had no control over.

This was magic. Those plates levitating to the table was pure witchcraft, and Credence had seen it with his own eyes. For years even he himself had only been half fearing his Ma's brutal fixation upon witches, as there had been no proof such sorcery existed. But now Credence had seen for himself. Was he about to be sacrificed for some satanic ritual, and this was all some kind of preparation for it?

“Witches live among us. Join the Second Salem fight against this devilish sorcery. America needs a Second Salem,” Mr Graves' sharp voice cut through Credence’s terror, and he watched with dreaded fascination as one of his leaflets, now bone dry, unstained and in one piece, was read off by the man, and as he read, the words seemed to peel away from the paper and hover in mid air above the table, glowing bright like flames.

“This is very macabre isn’t it?” Mr Graves smirked, the leaflet burning itself to ash in his grip and the words disintegrating with a lazy flick of his hand. “Surely Credence, you don’t believe this tripe your mother preaches?”

Credence stayed stock still where he sat, shaking like a leaf clinging to a branch. He stared, lips parted slightly, terrified at the man, and he actually began to feel hot tears running down his cheeks as Mr Graves approached him. He circled round the back of Credence’s chair, his hands sliding over his shoulders and gripping tight, his thumb rubbing circles into the back of his neck.

“Please d-don’t hurt me,” Credence barely whispered, his throat thick with fearful tears, closing his eyes tight as Mr Graves came and stood by his side, moving so fast Credence jumped when he saw him so close, his surprisingly cold breath at his ear. Credence was sure he was going to be devoured by the man.

Ma was right, he should’ve listened. He was sinful and wicked and ungrateful, he’d let himself be tempted by his unnatural lust into the clutches of magic, and now he was going to die because of it. He should’ve listened to her, should’ve been so much more grateful for the punishments she bestowed upon him. 

She had wanted to save him, and he had repaid her with nothing but his useless miserable existence, burdening her, when she could’ve been out warning people about this very real threat.

“Credence, if I’d wanted to hurt you I could’ve done it a long time ago,” Mr Graves whispered, terrifyingly close and deep and seductive, and Credence tried very hard to find his words anything but comforting. He desperately hoped his body wouldn’t respond to the lustful tone in the man's voice. “You see my boy, I’ve been watching you, for longer than I care to admit. At first it was base, of course. Something to do you know? An interest, a fancy, as I had with many when I first took residence here. But you, Credence, you’re different.”

Credence found himself staring up into the man’s powerful gaze when he felt two rough hands cup his face and raise his head. Mr Graves was stood so close, his hands felt so cold but he smelt so raw and so powerful. He could’ve snapped Credence’s neck if he wanted to. Credence sucked in a breath, trembling, but no longer solely through fear.

“I want to offer you something Credence. A once in a lifetime opportunity, a gift,” the man's face broke into an almost sincere grin as his large thumb brushed over Credence’s cheekbone. He felt himself lean into the touch and a shudder run up his spine unintentionally.

Credence couldn’t muster any thoughts or movements other than keeping his eyes upon the man. He knew he was drooling, and his mouth wasn’t closed properly, and his eyes were fuzzy with tears. His face must’ve been bright red because he could feel his skin burning under Mr Graves’ cold hands. The slick tone of the man, almost gentle, and the sudden soft touch was too much. It was more painless contact than Credence had received in years, and he completely melted under the older man’s gaze. It was incredibly overwhelming, but he didn’t want it to ever stop.

He could feel heat running down his spine, his cock beginning to fill. Credence could do nothing, completely captivated under the man's touch. His ears were burning red and he worried his lip between his teeth.

“Look at you. You’re a mess Credence, you’re broken, you don’t know how powerful you could be. How powerful I could make you. I could make you whole again, take you away from everything that hurts you, give you the life you deserve. Do you want this gift Credence?” Mr Graves smiled again, and Credence’s hands gripped the arm of the chair tight as he found himself pushing more into the contact like a starved dog.

“Please,” was all he could squeak out, trembling in the man's hands, silent overwhelmed tears spilling down his cheeks, his lips shining in the warm candle light.

His words, even if they were nothing but lies, sounded so .. Credence couldn’t describe it, but he realised now it was all he wanted. If this man could offer such freedom, such release, Credence would nod along to anything he had to say.

Mr Graves grinned, and his eyes were dark, predatory. He brought Credence close, so close it might’ve been a hug if his hand had not been latched firmly onto the back of Credence’s neck. The boy sank into the feeling of being enclosed by pure masculine brawn and muscle. The food was still steaming hot and smelling beautiful. Credence’s belly groaned aloud, making him hide his face into the man's shoulder, his ears a bright red. The hand on his neck squeezed and Credence’s cock twitched.

“I’ll give you it Credence, I promise, but you have to do something for me ok?” Mr Graves whispered, and Credence practically melted when he felt the man smile against his cheek in response to his tiny nod.

“I need you to follow every word I say, understand? I need you to prove to me you’ll do this, I need you to submit. That’s all, I promise,” he pulled back and Credence whimpered pitifully, the man sliding his fingers over Credence’s cheeks, wiping away the overwhelmed tears. “Tell your mother I’m.. mentoring you. Tell her I’m a business man looking for an apprentice, and you peaked my interest.”

Credence stared at the man. He didn’t know what to think. His mind was sluggish and could only comprehend the cold rough hands cradling his face and the deep brown eyes boring into his skull.

“Can you do that for me Credence?”

“M-Mr Graves I-“

“A yes or no answer boy.”

Dumbly, and in a decision Credence would probably come to regret later, he nodded.

“Perfect,” Mr Graves grinned handsomely, eagerly, and moved away to sit back down at the head of the table. He gestured with his hand to the still steaming food. “Eat, you need it.”

Credence flushed at the comment and ducked his head, the overwhelming force of the contact lifting off him like a ton of bricks. His cock lay heavily against his thigh, refusing to soften any further than halfway. He prayed the man didn’t notice. 

Slowly, gingerly, he picked up the knife and fork on the table, and began to eat. He tried his very hardest to be polite, to remember the manners he’d been taught.

Hopefully without succumbing to the sin of pride, Credence had always thought himself a well mannered boy, but under Mr Graves' intense stare he felt as though everything he was doing was wrong.

The man himself wasn’t eating. In fact there wasn’t any food near him, besides a glass of something dark and red. Credence thought it could be red wine, and he remembered having some in church.

“You don’t eat much in company of others, do you Credence?” Mr Graves smirked as he spoke, watching Credence with a scrutinizing eye as he raised the wine glass to his lips. Credence froze. He wasn’t sure if the man was being cruel or simply observational.

When the boy slowly shook his head and his jaw locked at the embarrassing comment, the older man clicked his tongue softly, as if he was trying to comfort a dog. Credence felt himself blinking rapidly, and he quietly out his cutlery down, suddenly unable to continue his meal.

“Come here,” Mr Graves commanded, leaning his chin on his hand and raising an eyebrow. The dominant smirk wouldn’t leave his face. If anything it grew larger, and should’ve made Credence feel uneasy, but instead it made his stomach twist in an embarrassingly familiar way. 

“Bring your food.”

He stood, his joints locking only for a moment as he made his way over to Mr Graves, holding the plate. He took uncertain steps, his legs shaking. Credence hoped the man wasn’t angry at him for not eating properly.

Mr Graves calmly took the plate, everything in his movements controlled and purposeful, but decidedly not angry, and he briefly glanced down at the space next to his fine shoes expectantly. At first Credence just stared, unsure of what he wanted, but as the realisation dawned upon him his face flooded red all over again. He minutely shook his head, tears threatening to fall again. He couldn’t sit on the floor, eat his food off his lap like an animal. Despite Credence being poor and from little money, he’d never had to sit on the ground, eating at somebody’s feet. He wondered if it was punishment for not having the proper dinner etiquette that Mr Graves expected, but the man's face appeared more firmly comforting than eager to discipline.

“I-I’m sorry sir,” he whispered, barely audible, but Mr Graves snapped his fingers loudly in the direction of the ground, making him jump.

“Sit.”

Credence sat. He didn’t know what else to do. The polished wood boards of the floor hurt his knees, and his hands were shaking badly. He wasn’t sure if he was crying or not, but he couldn’t look up at the man above him. He’d never felt so small, though he knew physically he was anything but.

Mr Graves gripped the back of his neck and squeezed gently, and Credence found his breathing stuttering at the gesture of control, but his shoulders surprisingly dropped their tension, and lowered. His lips were bright red and swollen from being bitten so much, his eyes were watery and pleading, and he knew his ears were red. Still, he shyly let the man's strong hand guide his head up until he was gazing up at him, his back forcibly straightened as he was lead. Credence made a soft, inhuman sound at the action.

The tip of Mr Graves’ shoe, perfectly shined and expensive, just touched Credence’s knee. He kept his hands folded in his lap. His breathing was shaky and uneven, tears in his eyes, though not threatening to fall.

He watched anxiously as the man speared some food onto the fork Credence had been using, and to his horror brought it down to his lips. He couldn’t be hand fed by the man. He couldn’t.

Credence didn’t understand. He wasn’t used to this kind of punishment, if that’s even what it was. It was incredibly humiliating, but the man's face was calm and controlled, showing no hint that this was to punish Credence. The worst part was Credence's body responded to the confusing situation, his cock achingly hard, making a tent in the fabric of the robe. Mr Graves didn’t say anything, just held his gaze intensely.

Credence shyly took the food from the fork, seeing no other way out, chewing uncomfortably under the man's stare. Despite his embarrassment he couldn’t deny the food was heavenly. Credence couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any food other than the anaemic homemade bread or gruel Ma and Chastity made.

Mr Graves continued to feed him from his spot at his feet, and when he’d finished he flicked his hand, and the plates and dishes and cutlery vanished suddenly. 

Credence watched with wide eyes, but didn’t say anything. So far it didn’t seem as though Mr Graves was going to use his magic to hurt him, and Credence was struggling to picture the kind of satanic magical destruction that Ma had always described. If anything magic seemed convenient.

“Here boy,” Mr Graves muttered under his breath, and took hold of Credence’s chin gently. He brought the boy’s face closer, wiping the corners of his mouth gently with a napkin that seemed to be controlled by an invisible hand before it crumpled up in the air and vanished as well.

“Thank you sir,” Credence spoke, quietly and slightly shaken, but finally louder than a whisper.

“You should be getting back soon Credence, your sisters will be wondering where you are,” the older man spoke as he ran a hand through Credence’s hair, guiding the boy to rest his chin on his thigh. The boy sighed pleasurably through his nose. “But I want to show you something first, to make sure you’ll come back.”

“I-I’ll come back sir,” Credence glanced up at him a he spoke, a lazy feeling of arousal coursing through him as he was petted. His length was throbbing, the softness of the silk wet with precum, feeling deliciously smooth as it slid off over his cock, exposing it to the warm air. He hummed in response, but pulled away slightly when the man reached for his own trousers. He undid his belt. Credence flinched at the noise of the buckle.

Mr Graves slid his hand to the back of Credence’s neck again, squeezing firmly, and Credence set his jaw. It fell open again when he saw the man's bare cock, slowly growing to hardness as he lazily rubbed his large hand along the shaft. 

From this small distance Credence could see every thick vein, the slight redness of the tip, the hint of dark wiry hair hidden beneath the fabric of his trousers which had not been removed.

Credence’s mind went numb. He’d never been faced with something like this before, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do, what was expected of him. He looked up uncertainly at Mr Graves, starting to feel the heat of his arousal, the smell of it, with his face so close.

“Mr Graves..I-I don’t ..” he stuttered, holding onto the older man's leg for support, staring at the massive length in front of him. Credence didn’t understand how it could be so big. His own was dwarfed in comparison, though throbbing eagerly at the sight.

Mr Graves put a finger to his lips, and then, still stroking himself with one hand, he used the other to do some kind of gesture in the air. At first nothing happened, and Credence wondered if there was some magic going on around him that he couldn’t see, but then he felt it.

It felt like a hand, but almost unbearably tight, and dripping wet, hotter than anything he’d felt before. It slid up and down his own dick fast and unrelenting, and Credence gasped brokenly and clutched at Mr Graves’ leg, digging his nails in. The man stopped doing the gesture and slid his hand back into Credence’s hair, but the feeling didn’t stop. He pressed Credence’s head closer to his prick.

“I want you to do something for me Credence, understand?” the older man watched the boy intently, his eyes dark and voice a little rougher.

The feeling on his cock was overwhelming. Credence could do nothing but desperately try not to let the needy sounds building up in his throat spill out as his hips rocked forward of their own accord. He clutched the man's leg so tight he was sure there would be bruises. When the man gripped his throat he keened, a humiliatingly high pitched sound, and nodded unthinkingly. Credence had never felt so.. good.

Mr Graves kept rubbing himself, right next to Credence’s face, but made no move to bring him any closer or have him touch it. He tried very hard not to feel disappointed.

“Come back tomorrow, at the same time, around dinner time. But I want you to wear something for me, underneath your clothes,” Mr Graves kept his grip on the boy's throat, just enough pressure to make breathing a little more difficult. He forced him to meet eye contact again.

This time Credence couldn’t answer. His eyes were glazed and his chin was slick with drool. He moaned in a restricted sort of way, mouth open but the sounds cut off and breathy. Even when he was so far gone he had his body under strict oppression. Mr Graves thought of how delicious it would be to unravel that harsh self control.

“Credence,” he said, a little firmer, squeezing the boy's throat tight as he vanished the unbearable pleasure from the boy's flushed cock. Credence whined an inhumanly high sound, gasping whorishly.

He nodded desperately in response, grinding his hips uncontrollably up against Mr Graves’ calf, the silken robe laying open so his bare thighs were revealed and his impressive looking prick rubbed against the fabric of the man's fine suit leg.

“A-anything Mr Graves,” Credence begged quietly, his voice breaking sweetly as he spoke.

“Take something of your older sister’s, some kind of slip, something pretty. I know she has something like that. Wear it under your normal clothes, then when it’s time, come back here.”

Before Credence could object or even process what he’d just been asked to do, the man flicked his hand and the intense tightness on his cock was back, only this time Credence found the head of Mr Graves' prick against his lips.

He should’ve been scared, or horrified at the man’s actions towards him, but Credence wasn’t in his right mind. Sat at Mr Graves’ feet, being pleasured by some incomprehensible magical force with a hand round his throat, he’d entered a very sinful part of his subconscious. 

Without thinking about the wickedness of his actions or thoughts, Credence took the man's cock into his mouth.

Copying what Chastity did to him, he lapped at the head like a dog, suckling, then he moved his head down only a little way, and sucked hard. He suddenly realised how eager he was to make the man feel good.

At the time he hadn’t really been expecting much of a response from the man, he hadn’t exactly had lots of practice sucking dick, but Mr Graves groaned and pushed his hips up a little, sliding his hand into Credence’s hair and gripping tight. He felt pressure on the back of his head where the man was pushing his head down further, and Credence choked around the thick length in his mouth. His eyes watered and he couldn’t breath, but the intense wet heat on his prick didn’t relent, so he pressed his tongue against the thick veins on the underside of the man's cock and let him guide his head.

Mr Graves used him expertly, clearly a man of experience, the head of his prick going to the back of Credence’s throat and beyond repeatedly. Credence gagged and cried around the girth of the man, but he did his best to breath through his nose and keep sucking hard. When he moaned around the man, Mr Graves made deep, guttural sounds in response, and it spurred him on eagerly.

It didn’t take long for Credence to release, and he must’ve done something right because only seconds later Mr Graves followed, clearly not expecting it so soon and letting out a vulnerable moan of pleasure. He knew pride was a sin, but at that moment Credence couldn’t help feeling extremely pleased with himself.

The boy pulled off his length, unsure what to do with the thick salty substance in his mouth. It dribbled down his shining chin, and Mr Graves held Credence’s jaw until he opened his mouth. The older man seemed pleased at how Credence cupped his spend on his tongue, and to show this he spat into Credence’s mouth.

“Swallow,” he commanded.

Credence swallowed.

“Good boy.”

Credence ducked his head at the praise, rubbing his throat where the man's hand had been. His cheeks flushed again as he felt himself smile at the offhand compliment, and he wiped his chin with the sleeve of the robe, tucking himself away decently again. Mr Graves caressed his hair gently, putting his own dick away and looking not at all like a man who had just been down Credence’s throat.

“Now my boy, you made a mess of my shoe, and I can’t have that,” the older man addressed him easily, his voice relaxed and an almost fond smile on his face as he watched him, scratching behind his ear gently.

Credence reached for the napkin settled on the table, but Mr Graves took hold of his wrist and removed the cloth from his grip, shaking his head but retaining the smile. Credence looked down shyly at the spend on the older man's shoe. He didn’t need to be told what to do.

This time he didn’t feel the embarrassment. He leant down, crouching close to Mr Graves’ shoe, and he slid his tongue over the leather. It was harder than Credence expected it to be, and incredibly smooth. He kept licking until it was clean, and shiny with spit. He sat back up on his knees, shuffling now he was coming back to his senses. His legs felt stiff and numb from the hard wood floor.

“Stand up Credence, your clothes are dry and clean by the door. Go get changed and I’ll see you out.”

It was a sudden end to their activities, but Credence obeyed, though his knees cracked when he stood and he whimpered in pain due to the numbed stiffness that had settled in his legs. The balls of his bare feet prickled with pins and needles.

He walked over to where Mr Graves had instructed, and slid out of the robe, dressing quickly. The sense of everything being real hadn’t yet quite hit him. It seemed to be a permanent air about the house, with every window boarded up and only soft flickering candlelight light from magnificent chandeliers to offer any sort of illumination.

“Now don’t forget what I asked of you,” Mr Graves straightened Credence’s jacket out when he’d finished dressing, and opened the front door without touching it.

Credence nodded blankly, blinking when he opened the door. The storm had settled down to a blustery drizzle, the clouds above dark and overcast. A faint glow of golden sun attempted to glimmer through the grey sky. Trees had been blown down during the sudden storm and now lay corpse like over the path. 

Credence shivered as a particularly cold gust of wind aimed itself right through the door. It went through his previously warmed bones as if they were cotton.

When he stepped through the threshold the door shut behind him, and Credence stood, staring out at the mud churned path. The field opposite was water logged, vast brown coloured lakes appearing upon the previously ploughed earth.

His mouth tasted salty and his lips felt swollen. His cheeks were tacky from tears. He wasn’t sure if he hadn’t just dreamt it all, standing in the light rain without any real physical proof. Looking back at the manor house, it looked positively abandoned. Credence wondered if he tried to open the door he would find nothing but a tattered shell of a long since emptied building. From the outside there was no indication of the fine gentleman within.

He felt cold, and strange, and he figured he must’ve been gone longer than he should have, so he started walking back in the direction of the church. He didn’t look back at the house.

His brain could once again think clearly, no longer overwhelmed or possibly charmed, but he realised he actually didn’t know what he should be thinking. Surely disgusted, horrified with the actions that had taken place, but instead everything seemed terribly casual. It didn’t even feel real, things like that didn’t happen to people like him. 

Maybe he really had died, just for a few hours, and then came back. If Mr Graves had resurrected him then that made him akin to God. The man was realer than anything the priests had drilled into his head over the years, and clearly held more power.

It might’ve been blasphemous to think such things, and he knew he should not make idols, but if Mr Graves was divine, was more than an idol, was some kind of.. incarnation, Credence had just found something worth worshipping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments always appreciated :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way too long, but hey we got there in the end :)

It was the middle of the night. Crickets buzzed and chirped noisily outside, though the heat of the previous week had vanished. Ma had even agreed to light a fire the night had grown so bleak. A lone coyote howled miserably outside.

The storm had passed, but a cutting breeze fed through the gaps in the church, chilling its inhabitants to the bone. Credence’s thin sheets and scratchy nightshirt did nothing to ease the shudders that wracked his whole body.

His teeth chattered loudly, the sound absorbed into the pitch blackness. The fire had long since been put out, and the children weren’t to be trusted with candles in their room.

Credence wasn’t sure what time it was, he’d never been taught specific numbers, only general terms such as midnight, noon and morning. He assumed it was long after midnight had passed however, and the night had entered a much darker, much more sinister time. He’d never seen so much nothingness, never realised how suffocating it was, how oppressive. 

Nothing could penetrate the pure blackness, even the silvery slits of moonlight leaking through the cracks in the walls and ceiling seemed to dim as they entered the church.

He thought of Mr Graves. How mysterious the man was, living in such a strangely decadent house with such fine clothes. Credence didn’t know how long the man had actually lived in the ranch house – he’d never seen anyone coming or going from it.

Credence’s memory of the day’s events were hazy and dream like, but he could recall Mr Graves’ instruction to put on one of Chastity’s slips under his clothes and return for dinner. His face burned just at the thought of doing such a wicked thing. Ma would kill him if she caught him.

Had it even been real? Credence thought about what he’d done, how disgusting he’d been. His icy fingers came up to press at his throat gingerly. It was a little rough, and his voice had been hoarse when he arrived back. He swallowed. He hoped very much that he’d hallucinated the whole ordeal. Maybe then he would receive forgiveness.

Still, despite the ambiguity regarding the day’s events, Credence couldn’t deny a direct order. The words burned themselves into his ears, his eyes. It was all he could think about. But did Chastity even have a slip of Mr Graves’ description? If he was referring to a night gown then they certainly weren’t pretty, merely practical, homemade by Ma. And if Mr Graves had been referring to her underwear…

Credence's face burned, even with no one there to hear his thoughts. Surely her underwear would be in a similar condition to his, most certainly not attractive, more uncomfortable than not, and full of holes and bad stitching.

He sighed heavily into the night, his breath forming a moonlight induced silver cloud against the black. There was no way he could retrieve this mystery slip tonight. The house was so old and creaky everyone would hear him if he so much as breathed out of the threshold of his bedroom.

Credence shuddered in the cold and tugged his sheet around him tighter. He couldn’t feel his feet, and it hurt to breath through his nose. Wickedly, Credence found himself longing to back in the solid warmth of Mr Graves’ manor. He wondered what would happen when he turned up wearing the slip under his clothes.

Something terrible crossed Credence’s mind at that, a deep, very purposefully hidden desire that made his unruly cock start to swell against his leg. Would Mr Graves treat him like a girl? As much as that should make Credence feel repulsed and angry at the question of his masculinity, it made his hips roll without guidance against the bed. His breathing grew shaky as his prick grew to full hardness, sinful fantasies racing through his head.

Usually he would be able to get ahold of himself, push down the fantasies and be able to replace them with something horrible, enough to eventually calm him down. But tonight seemed to be the opposite of the usual sort.

Instead, Credence’s imagination stretched into awful scenarios; dressing in delicate, soft silks with effeminate patterns dancing over them, his ungainly too-big limbs suddenly smaller, lighter, makeup finding its way onto his own distasteful visage to artfully sculpt him into something.. pretty. How Credence ached to be called pretty, to feel pretty. He wished his hair could be as long as his younger sister Modesty’s, that men on the street would look at him the same way they looked at Chastity.

Credence should’ve felt sick at his own twisted mind, but it only made his cock harder, aching against the sheets, his hips attempting to roll despite his silent pleas for them not to. His eyes leaked messy tears onto his pillow, and his lips were wet. He twisted his hands into the sheets, breathing in shaky shallow huffs.

The moon suddenly seemed to figure out how to penetrate the darkness, and strong slits of silver emptied themselves into Credence’s tiny bedroom, half illuminating it with a strange silver light. That was when things began to change in a way that should’ve made Credence quake with fear. Instead however, it made him quake in a very different way.

Credence wasn’t sure how to describe what was actually happening. At first he thought all his tossing and turning had gotten him tangled up in the sheets, there seemed to be so much of them all of a sudden, the material no longer scratchy but soft, the cold starting to no longer bother him as his skin heated.

Then, as if they were a separate entity in their own right, the sheets began to twist around his wrists, tight enough to prevent any movement but not enough to cut into his skin. They pulled them above his head so his elbows were resting on his pillow. 

Credence breathed heavily, already laying on his front, but pulling his hips up until his back curved and his behind stuck up in the air as the now living sheets physically dragged him up. The freezing air hit his skin but Credence felt as though he might burn up, starting to sweat.

He couldn’t understand what was happening. Maybe it was a dream. Whatever it was he didn’t fight.

The sheets wound themselves over his legs, parting them, and tugged up his sleep shirt until his chest was exposed. They acted almost like hands, suddenly given an infinite amount of material to work with. Credence let out a shaky whimper as his nipples rubbed against the sheet below, oversensitive due to his throbbing prick.

Once Credence had been fully restrained by this unnatural sheet-creature, everything stopped for a few seconds. His breathing grew loud in the silence, every limb coiled tight and trembling. For a single heart-stopping moment Credence feared he might be left like this until Ma or his sister’s uncovered him.

When he felt his hole fill with a sudden warm, slick liquid he yelped. Tears fell hot and heavy down his cheeks, feeling the strange thing leaking down his thighs and over his balls, dripping down his shaft, making it jump eagerly.

Credence whimpered pitifully, like an animal caught in a trap.

When he felt something blunt and all too real nudging at his hole he jerked suddenly, craning his neck behind him to try and see what was going on. Surely someone couldn’t have sneaked into his room without anyone knowing?

There was no one, but the feeling didn’t stop and it breached his entrance easily with the copious amount of slick dripping from him. Credence pushed his face into the pillow to muffle the small pathetic noises that kept spilling from his mouth.

It burned a little, but Credence suspected whatever satanic forces were at play made sure to ease the stretch. The thing filled him completely, and it didn’t stop. 

Credence’s eyes grew wide and the air was pushed from his lungs as his back arched further to accommodate the immense length entering him in one slick push. When it finally stopped Credence felt impaled.

His heart fluttered in his chest and his cock was rock hard, flushed deep and physically throbbing. He couldn’t stop his ragged breathing. Credence’s whole body trembled.

Then the invisible length began to move, and Credence thought he’d touched heaven.

It dragged slowly at first, Credence’s tight hole gripping onto every inch, then it pushed back in with an embarrassing wet noise that made the boy flush. It kept up the painfully slow pace, and Credence realised how badly he wanted it to move faster, impale him harder. His breathing was loud and shaky, mixed with desperate, high moans. Ma was going to hear him, but Credence didn’t care.

His pillow was wet with tears and drool, he knew he couldn’t be an attractive sight. Especially not splayed out like this, so embarrassingly exposed and venerable.

Credence pulled at the bindings on his wrists and legs, but they held tight. When he rocked forwards as the length pushed so deep inside him it made no difference, he couldn’t escape the intensity of the feeling.

Then it began it gain in speed, his hole making desperate wet sounds that filled the room, slick dripping down his legs making his skin feel hot where it touched. Credence moaned almost girlishly, his voice breaking from high to low at each thrust.

The length brushed something inside of him at each push, making him jolt and moan, growing more and more sensitive each time. It moved so fast and so hard, thrusting without mercy, pushing so deep Credence could hardly breathe.

His legs shook and his bed creaked. Credence couldn’t even register where he was, his whole body was on fire with sensation, the massive thing inside of him pounding relentlessly. The noises he made were not such a boy should make and far too loud, and the needy way he pushed back onto the feeling, desperate for more despite being completely filled, was unforgivable.

Credence could feel something building, the same feeling as when Mr Graves had touched him using his magic, but this was much more intense. Credence’s moans and whines and cries grew louder, higher in pitch. His eyes rolled back into his skull and he pushed his chest and face into the bed further, curving his spine as far as he could to push back. 

When he released his mind when blank. It felt white hot, and his ears rang. His whole body went tense as he spilled far too much seed all over the sheets below. He panted like a dog, little uncontrollable whimpers escaping at each drag of air.

The length inside of him slowly pulled out, Credence’s hips dropping to the bed as it did so. The sheet bindings that had held so tightly suddenly gave and seemed to shrink back to their original size and texture.

Credence stayed in a crumpled heap on the bed, laying in the mess he had made, breathing heavy, his body trembling. His release was warm and thick under his skin. His hole still leaked copious amounts of slick.

He’d never slept so deeply and so comfortably as he had that night. It was a dreamless sleep, one so refreshing he might’ve woken up in a different life after. Unfortunately he remained in the one he had lived for sixteen years.

Ma had been furious that he had overslept, usually able to rely on his body clock to wake him up as the sun first began to rise. Any sense of relaxed euphoria brought on by last night was swiftly ripped away as the belt came down heavy upon his back, still tacky from laying in his release all night. Luckily Ma didn’t notice the stain on the sheets.

In further punishment while Ma and his sisters left for town to preach, Credence was given the task of cleaning the church, a job which usually would be shared between the three adoptive siblings in the form of their daily chores.

Credence silently thanked God for his mother’s decision, as a freezing drizzle of rain had just started up, the sky a blinding white with thick clouds obscuring the sun. It felt strange to pray after what had occurred last night, but already Credence was unsure if it had even happened. It had been very unrealistic, moving sheets and invisible lengths, how could he even consider it was anything but a dream?

As he cleaned his back burned. The welts had made it extremely painful to get dressed after Ma's punishment, and now his shirt was sticking to the blood and pulling at the sensitive skin with each movement.

His sisters had been made to watch, but unlike Modesty Chastity had not cried. Credence knew very well how ill she thought of him, how she agreed that he did indeed deserve his punishments, and probably much worse. As much as Credence didn’t want to believe her he knew she was right.

By the time Credence had finished the grueling job he was sweating, his clothes sticking to him uncomfortably and pulling at the wounds decorating his back. He wasn’t strong, and even in his recent hideous growth spurt he had been unsuccessful in gaining much muscle mass like the men in the fields, despite his chores being far more physical than his sisters'. Credence tended the church's feeble crops, trying his best to have them survive despite the land being completely inhospitable to any form of vegetation they attempted to grow. He chopped wood, he cleaned, had to repair the decrepit church when even Ma agreed that they couldn’t carry on residing here in the condition that it was in. Of course there were more, but Credence knew he shouldn’t be ungrateful for the work his Ma gave him, and decided to shut up.

He shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, rubbing away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his wrist. His shirt collar and small tie were too tight around his neck, but he refrained from removing them.

The few rooms that were in the confines of the church were clean; floors swept, surfaces wiped clean and corners dusted. Credence knew he shouldn’t feel such pride in his work, but he couldn’t stop the satisfaction creeping over him as he surveyed each room. 

When he caught sight of himself in the old mirror above the fireplace he winced. Blood stained the back of his shirt in thick smeared stripes where the belt wounds were, no doubt agitated by the movement. Credence looked down at his hands, realising the few day old scabs of previous punishments had split again, and his hands were sticky from the red fluid they had oozed. While he was focused cleaning Credence hadn’t even registered the pain from either.

Credence turned and picked up the bucket of dirty water he had been using to scrub the floors with, placing it on the table in the main hall of the church. The water was cold and the homemade soap was greasy and smelt foul, but he cleaned his hands regardless.

He then took the bucket to the porch, throwing the water out onto the leafless bushes beside it before leaving the bucket by the door and drying his hands on his trousers, careful not to agitate the cuts again. When he looked up a large black dog had appeared on the steps of the porch, dangerously close, its pointed snout barely a few inches away from Credence’s face.

The boy staggered back with shock, his hand flying to the door handle to pull it close to him, barring the gap between the frame and the door which lead into the church.

The dog watched him with shining dark eyes, its oily black fur untouched by the rain. Credence had never seen it so close, and the sense of dread that seemed to be a permanent aura surrounding the beast laid heavy over Credence’s gut. He felt like he might throw up.

The dog fixed him with its unnatural stare for far too long, before slinking past Credence’s legs like a shadow, and silently walking into the house. Credence trembled, closing the door and watching the huge black form survey the church, sniffing at furniture and the floor, raising its nose to the air. 

It was completely blasphemous to have such an ungodly creature in a church, Credence knew it in his gut. The dog was not from this world, he was more than sure.

It looked at him, its long slender neck craning to watch Credence again, before huffing a heavy sound through its jowls that sounded like something heavy dropping onto sand. Once it seemed satisfied that it had Credence’s attention, the dog then padded upstairs, completely silent.

Credence followed slowly, suddenly chilled and wishing for his jacket. He absentmindedly unrolled his sleeves, his breathing shaky. He was sure the dog was going to kill him.

The door to his mother’s room was closed and firmly locked, as always, and his own remained shut. The door to his sisters’ room stood ajar however and Credence peeked inside timidly, his heart pounding against his chest and blood roaring in his ears.

The dog was stood on its hind legs, alarmingly taller than Credence when it did so, its front paws braced on the battered chest of drawers containing his sisters’ clothes, the top drawer somehow opened. The beast's snout dug into the girls' undergarments, seemingly searching for something, and Credence watched horrified. He shook where he stood, his eyes wide. With such a mess being created in the drawer they were sure to notice and blame him, and his vision became slightly blurry with frightened tears as he thought of how terrible his punishment from his mother would be for being such a disgusting pervert.

There came the soft crinkling of tissue paper, and the dog slowly removed its large head from the drawer. A small parcel of delicate white tissue paper wrapped in a light pink ribbon lay hanging from its huge mouth, but it seemed to be holding it with the utmost care as it returned to all fours and laid its prize on Chastity’s bed. The dog's beady eyes found Credence’s hunched figure again, burning holes into his skin as it stood motionless.

Credence stared at the parcel. The Barebones were not a wealthy family, and they certainly didn’t buy from shops that wrapped things in fancy tissue paper and pretty ribbons. Where had this come from?

He moved over to the bed gingerly, removing the delicate silk garment from the crisp wrapping. A small note fell out onto the bed, but Credence couldn’t read, relying only on memorising hymns and passages from the Bible from Ma's teachings.

The slip was… beautiful. It was lighter than anything Credence had felt, and softer too, feeling like water as he ran his hand over it. The pale white silk caught the light beautifully, each fold of elegant material shimmering like precious stones. The subtle white embroidery enhanced the curves that it would undoubtedly cling to when worn, and Credence felt his cheeks heat up a little at the low cut of the top, and how high the skirt was. Credence doubted it would fully cover the rear.

“What are you doing?” Chastity’s stern voice resonated through him like a wave.

Credence jumped at the sudden interruption, gripping the slip tightly to his chest as though he could hide it. He hunched further in on himself, trembling again. He didn’t turn around to face the door. The dog had vanished.

“Credence? What have you got?” his older sister moved to the still open drawer containing her underwear, the anger clear in her voice, but it also shook slightly, an octave too high.

When Credence didn’t answer she took hold of his elbow in a painful grip and turned him around, glaring at him, her face faltering when she saw what he had in his shaking hands. She slapped him, hard.

“How dare you go in my private drawer, have you gone mad? You’re such a pervert Credence,” she hissed, taking hold of his wrists and trying to pry them away from the slip.

Credence’s eyes were wet, a few silent tears falling. His cheek was red with a clear hand mark burning into his pale skin. For the first time in far too long he met Chastity’s furious gaze, keeping a tight hold on the garment.

“Where’d you get this?” he mumbled quietly, his voice soft and high, unable to break at such a quiet tone.

Chastity stopped tugging at his wrists, looking round to make sure no one was at the door. Credence saw her hands shaking too. Her face was a mask of fear and struggling calm.

“Credence it doesn’t matter, just give it to me. It’s not even mine!” she whispered, squeezing his bicep in a tight hold and holding her other hand out expectantly, her mouth a thin line.

For once the threat of telling their mother remained unsaid. They would both be punished if Chastity told Ma that Credence went in her underwear drawer, as Credence could show her the slip and the note he could not read.

“Where’d you get this?” Credence repeated, yanking his arm away abruptly when her grip felt like it was bruising, surprising his sister with such a sudden movement.

“A man gave it to me, a few weeks ago when we were in town delivering leaflets, when we stayed out too late til it was dark. He said I was pretty, and he wanted to see me again, so he bought me this to wear for when he did, but,” she paused, clearly ashamed of how swept up she had been with a man's flattering attention, watching Credence carefully as she spoke. “I haven’t seen him since.”

Credence had a strange suspicion he knew who the man was.

“What did he look like?”

Chastity shot him a mistrustful glare, her brows knitting together as she began to neaten up her underwear drawer again. 

“Why do you care?”

Credence frowned back and shrugged, folding the slip but ignoring Chastity’s outstretched hand when she attempted to reach for it to put it back.

“Credence,” she gave him a warning, setting her jaw in frustration.

“You haven’t seen him since, so you won’t be needing it,” he walked to the door, opening it and checking the hall was clear. Seeing that it was he started towards his room.

“What are you doing with it?” Chastity watched him, hiding the tissue paper and ribbon back in her drawer, closing it with an irritated jolt.

Credence ignored her, shutting the door of his own room and crouching down onto the floor, reaching his arm under the bed. He found the loose floorboard and pulled it off, reaching inside the small cubby hole where he kept a dusty wooden box, pulling it out onto his lap.

The box contained forbidden items that otherwise would’ve been destroyed by his mother long ago; the neatly folded note that had been left with him as a week old baby on Mary Lou's doorstep back when she owned a successful church-and-orphanage in the city, the strange tarnished coins of some unknown currency a man had dropped into Credence’s collection jar after one of his Ma's sermons, and the collection of buttons and feathers a boy had once given him in return for an extra helping of soup and bread, for which he’d received a terrible punishment. 

Credence folded the slip up as small as it would go, tucking it away in the box before replacing the lid and slotting it back under the floorboards, sliding the loose board back into place. He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to put it on and escape to Mr Graves' manor house, with Ma having no obvious plan for him to leave the church today.

Upon exiting his room and going downstairs to help with the preparation of lunch, Ma scolded him for taking his jacket off and looking improperly dressed. Credence slipped it back on as quickly as he could without agitating his back. Chastity was chopping an aneamic-looking cabbage angrily, not bothering to acknowledge Credence’s presence.

“After lunch I expect you all to undress quickly so I can bathe you without hassle. Although it’s not Sunday yet the vicar wants to have us for dinner, so I need you all to look your best. He’s thinking of letting us take over the church in town permanently,he can no longer afford to run it himself,” Ma announced, petting Modesty’s hair as she set the table with Credence.

Lunch passed wordlessly, the watery cabbage soup and rock hard bread made for an unsatisfactory meal, but no one complained. Then Credence was sent outside to bring in the tin tub that they used for a bath, positioning it by the fire, which Chastity lit. They filled the bath using water from the tank that collected rain water, and a chunk of the fatty soap was sliced and dropped into the tub.

Modesty was first, the water clearly freezing as her skin broke out in goosebumps, her lips turning blue as she trembled. Ma scrubbed at the young girl with the soap and the harsh scrubbing brush, pushing her head under momentarily to wet her hair before letting her out, wrapping her in a thin cloth to dry her.

Modesty shivered uncontrollably, her teeth chattering as she dried herself thoroughly and crept upstairs to her room to find her church clothes. Although they usually only wore them on Sunday when it was worship service in town, Ma had specifically ordered for them to look their best.

Chastity's wash was gentler, being Ma's clear favourite. Credence stood uncomfortably to the side, his posture awkward as he tried to cover his large prick and the vast amounts of dark hair that grew not only around it, but down his legs and arms, even starting to appear on his chest.

His sister on the other hand had completely smooth skin, not even having the blemishes on her back that Credence did. Being fair haired even the hair over her sex was light and undoubtedly feminine, nowhere near as offensive to the eyes as Credence’s stark black curls against his sickly pale skin.

Chastity left the achingly cold confines of the bath and dried herself on the cloth, looking Credence up and down with a scrutinizing gaze which made him flush and look down, trying to cover himself more. He wished he wasn’t so tall.

As his older sister made her way upstairs Ma gripped Credence’s wrist and pulled him over to the bath, making him stumble ungainly into the tub. The bath was too small for his tall stature, so he ended up with his knees tucked uncomfortably under his chin. The water was beyond freezing, his skin irritated by the soap and flushing in a cold uncomfortable rash over his wrists and thighs.

His mother ignored it, scrubbing painfully hard down onto his skin, taking no care over his back which made him sob. He choked when Ma gripped the back of his neck and pushed him under the water, the freezing temperature enveloping him, invading his nose and mouth, his lungs closing up. For a time Credence thought Ma was going to drown him.

When she resurfaced him he spluttered and coughed, water streaming from his nose. His hair clung to his face and he shook all over, his skin prickly with goosebumps, his teeth chattering. The water was a muddy red colour because of his back.

“Get out,” Ma commanded sternly, holding the cloth in her hand for him to take.

Credence stood obediently, stepping over the edge of the bath and taking hold of the towel. His skin was bright red due to the harshness of the scrubbing brush. Credence wondered if Ma had tried to scrub the wickedness from him.

He froze when she grabbed his cock in a painfully tight grasp. Credence stared at her, his eyes huge and shocked, trembling from cold.

His mother surveyed his body with a face of disgust, looking at the length in her hand with distaste. Her touch was harsh and unforgiving, making Credence wince and let out a little sob.

“How unsightly. You should be ashamed of yourself,” Ma shook her head at his teenage body, letting go of his prick and wiping her hand on the cloth, disappointment clear in her face.

“I’m sorry Ma,” Credence whispered, taking the cloth and hurriedly drying himself, not daring to look at his mother’s face as he quickly disappeared upstairs to his bedroom.

He got dressed in his Sunday best as swiftly as he could, desperate not to see his offensive body any longer. His back was going to stain his shirt and ruin it. Credence knew he’d receive punishment because of it.

When they all congregated downstairs ready to leave Ma could tell he’d been crying, and told him to wipe that sullen expression off his face – they were going to dinner, he should be grateful.

As they made their way down the porch and onto the road, Ma's umbrella only sheltering her and Chastity so Credence and Modesty trailed wetly behind, freezing fingers entwined, Credence looked back at the church.

The large black dog stood on the porch, padding down the steps and watching the family leave, its nose in the air, scenting. When it seemed to figure out that they were leaving and shouldn’t return until late that night, it swiftly turned around in the opposite direction to Credence, and silently walked away. It disappeared as if it had walked into a patch of thick fog.


End file.
